His qi poured out of him like water from a broken vessel.
He felt himself going thin. Not physically — physically he was still present, still pressing against her, his hands still on her hips. But something essential was vacating him, the way warmth vacates a room when the fire goes out, leaving the structure intact and the heat entirely gone.
"NO — STOP — I'LL — I'LL KILL—"
"You can't," she said. Pleasantly. Her legs tightened. The pull deepened.
His voice ran out before his words did.
His body stayed where it was. His qi did not. The meridians emptied in a long, silent rush — seven years of cultivation, a core he'd been proud of, the late-stage Core Formation foundation he'd been planning to push to Nascent Soul within the decade — gone. Not damaged. 'Eaten.'
Devoured clean.
He slumped.
